


For Want of a Duck

by pherryt



Series: Winterhawk Bingo Round 2 [4]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hawkeye!Clint, M/M, Rescue Mission, Rubber Ducks, Second Chances, Trapped, Undercover, mafia front, modern!Bucky, rubber duck boutique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Bucky's got the best employee he has ever had. Clint Barton is cheerful, has wonderful ideas on how to garner more business for the store annnnnd it doesn't hurt that he's drop dead gorgeous. Only problem is, the store is a front and Bucky can't have Clint drawing more attention to it than it already has.
Relationships: Winterhawk
Series: Winterhawk Bingo Round 2 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890343
Comments: 17
Kudos: 147
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	For Want of a Duck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotTheBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheBlue/gifts).



> 1 - this is filling the Winterhawk Bingo Square: G2 - Hawkeye/ Modern!Bucky
> 
> 2 - this was originally a prompt from the Clintucky Fried Chicken Discord from Not the Blue - a photo that exploded into Bucky working the store that was OBVIOUSLY a mafia front, with Clint his clueless employee....

Bucky wasn’t sure how _this_ had become his life.

He wanted to blame Steve, he really did, but it had been his own poor choices that had led him here – to being the owner of a trendy little shop that sold – wait for it –

Rubber Ducks.

That was it. The whole shop.

Of course, it was merely a front for some local, two-bit mafia wannabes, and it was how Bucky would be paying off his debt to them because he got a loan from the wrong people when Steve had gotten so sick that one winter a few years back.

And now…

Well, Steve was better. Hell, he was better than better and he kept talking all about the grand plans they had once made now that he was, but Bucky was… stuck.

He couldn’t go on any adventures, because he couldn’t leave the shop. School was right out too, because, really, what was the fucking point?

Bucky was stucker than stuck.

But he didn’t regret it.

Steve was family, the only family either of them had left, and Bucky would never have let Steve just slip away without even trying, no matter where Bucky ended up in the process. As evidenced by… this.

Bucky sighed forlornly at the little, kitschy shop. Rubber Ducks had been his choice, because he knew he’d need something to keep him from slipping into the dark spaces of his mind. It was colorful and bright, with cheerful ducks of all sizes, shapes and colors and even materials.

Yes, that _was_ a chocolate duck. It was, in fact, a pretty popular item with the few customers that came in, especially around Easter time. But Bucky couldn’t imagine being the kind of person who’d _eat_ one of those. He’d feel so guilty.

He already felt fucking guilty, and rather depressed these days. Not even the shop had been able to lift his spirits from the soul crushing useless monotony of it all.

He stared glumly around the shop, filled with the standard, plain yellow rubber duck as well as a confusing variety of ducks of all professions. It was the farthest thing from his mind when he thought of a mafia front –

Or it would have been, if Bucky hadn’t known better, hadn’t been in the thick of it.

And to make it worse, to maintain the illusion of a semi successful niche shop in order to justify its location and expenses, Bucky had been forced to hire an employee.

An _employee_ who was clueless as to the true nature of the place.

And a disaster. 

Seriously, the guy was a literal disaster. But he also had a soft heart and strong work ethic and was utterly gorgeous and there was no way Bucky could fire him like he usually did. Because that was the thing; the turnover here at the Lucky Duck was high. Every few months, to keep anyone from growing wise, or suspicious, Bucky would let go the latest employee and hire a new one. He tried to keep it to college kids, the kind who’d leave on their own, with no questions asked, so that firing wasn’t actually on the agenda, but this time around, there’d been no choice.

As soon as Clint had walked in and asked for an application, Bucky had known he was lost.

Like the rubber ducks, this man helped keep Bucky from sinking into despair. Clint was a bright spot in Bucky’s existence that he really shouldn’t be depending on but he couldn’t keep himself from yearning for.

There was a clatter from the front of the oddly shaped store and Bucky looked up from his moping.

Speak of the devil. There he was. Clint Barton – tall, blonde and blue eyed, with purple hearing aids that matched his cheery personality, and always sporting a Band-Aid or two and a set of really impressive biceps nearly always on display – was stumbling over the lip of the shop and into one of the shelves, rubber ducks flying everywhere.

But at least he hadn’t spilled the coffee, because that would have not only put a heartbreaking little pout on his face, but would have been a bitch to clean up to boot.

Apparently, Specialty Rubber Ducks had nooks and crannies that were nearly impossible to just wipe off. You had to pull out the big guns to do a good cleaning – toothpicks and q-tips and a lot of slow, meticulous work.

Bucky hurried forward, despite that this was nearly a daily occurrence – the only days it didn’t happen were the days Clint _wasn’t_ working. Clint beamed at Bucky as he caught sight of him and that, there, was the _real_ reason Bucky wouldn’t get rid of the guy. Clint took his goddamn breath away with every fucking smile.

God, he was so, so smitten.

This was such a bad idea.

“Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” Clint chirped. Actually fucking chirped like a goddamn bird. Bucky was far more endeared by this than he should be. “Brought you coffee.” Clint held out a second cup – Starbucks, of course, because that was the sort of neighborhood they were in – and Bucky took it as helplessly as he had the first day Clint had turned up with one just for Bucky.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky started again, but Clint waved his hand in the air.

“Pfft, I want to.”

Clint beamed at Bucky and all his resolve – _ha! What resolve_? – melted away. “So, what do you need me to do today, boss?” Clint asked, following Bucky in and hopping up on the counter, and sipping his own coffee, bright purple converse knocking against the casement.

“Oh, um….” Bucky floundered, trying to remember what make do tasks he’d created to justify Clint being there. “Did you dust the ducks?” And wasn’t that an odd question, but turnover wasn’t real big in a store like this.

“Got ‘em all yesterday,” Clint said cheerfully. “I got my eye on that one in the corner though. If it’s still here come paycheck time, it’s coming home with me.”

Bucky eyed the shelves filled with ducks to figure out which one Clint was referring to and gave up – for now. There were a lot of odd corners in this shop. It was built that way on purpose, to hide certain _other_ nooks and crannies.

Still, specialty ducks or not, very few of them were all that expensive.

“Clint, if you’re hurting that much for cash, you have to stop bringing me coffee,” Bucky said slowly, wondering if he could justify giving Clint a raise. All the money coming in and out of this place was very, very carefully watched. “Are… are you doing okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Clint chirped. Again. Goddamit. He was just too… too… cheerful.

And everything Bucky _needed_ right now. God, he was so weak.

“Just, I have a tendency to spend first and think of bills later, so I’m trying to be better,” Clint said, fiddling with one of his aids. Bucky took another look. They appeared somewhat new. They probably cost a lot, and maybe Clint’s budget hadn’t accounted for them?

“You’ll tell me if it’s bad right?” Bucky asked, knowing full well that Clint wouldn’t – why would he? Bucky was his employer, not his friend – but hoping he would. Somehow, someway, Clint had been inching his way past Bucky’s defenses this past… month? Fuck, had he only known Clint a month?

Steve was the only one he’d let in these past few years, and really, that was more because Steve had already been there and was too stubborn to be pushed away for his own good. Not that Bucky was strong enough to do that, even before Steve had bulked up and grown 8 feet tall. That Rogers stubbornness had been with him since birth.

“Sure,” Clint said. They stayed at the counter, slowly sipping at their coffee, not saying much – Bucky was far too content with looking his fill of Clint with the excuse of staring forward towards the entrance – when Clint suddenly broke that with a heart stopping question.

“So, I been thinkin’ about the store, boss,” he said. “And about how it doesn’t get much traffic. What if we could do something to drum up customers? Like, I bet if we made flyers, or took out ads, or maybe we did special events or maybe – oh! What if we got a rubber duck costume? Stand outside and wave people in?”

Bucky shrugged, as nonchalant as he could. “It gets enough to get by. Don’t need much,” he hedged. A sick feeling rolled through him. The last thing this place needed was attention. “Look, I know it doesn’t have much to keep you busy… if… if you need to find a better paying job, with more hours… don’t feel like you’re tied down here, Clint. I’ll give you a good reference.”

Clint gave him a soft look that nearly killed him before he answered.

“Nah, I like this place. I don’t know any other job that pays me to play with the merchandise. In fact, I’ve been staging soap opera’s with the ducks and taking pictures. Was thinking of starting an Instagram for the shop and posting them there, if you were cool with that. They’re pretty fuckin’ funny, if I say so myself,” Clint said, pulling out his phone.

Bucky just stared in disbelief and he could feel his eyes stinging. He wasn’t sure why this moment, why now, was the thing that sent him over the edge, but Clint was just too much, too good, too… too fucking pure and Bucky was tainted. All Clint wanted to do was help, and if this had been Bucky’s real job, he would have absolutely jumped on Clint’s ideas. But instead… instead he’d have to shut him down, over something he seemed really enthusiastic about too. And, judging by the pictures he was now shoving under Bucky’s nose, he’d already spent a lot of time and effort on this.

Which meant Bucky would be the one killing Clint’s spirit, like Pierce and this job had killed Bucky’s.

And suddenly everything was pushing down at him and his chest was tight and his mouth was working but nothing was coming out and the tears stinging his eyes were now more a reality than a threat. The coffee that Clint had so generously brought him fell out of nerveless fingers, splashing him and the counter and Bucky turned away from Clint with a curse.

He dug around under the counter top for a roll of paper towels to clean it up, grateful for the excuse to avoid Clint’s suggestion and his hopeful eyes for a little while longer. But he couldn’t breathe and his hands shook as they fumbled to clean up the mess.

And then Clint was kneeling beside him, taking Bucky’s hands in his – strong and calloused and warm – and Bucky just froze, head bowed, choking on a hiccupping breath.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Clint asked, voice so full of concern Bucky couldn’t take it. How was this guy real? “Did you burn yourself?”

Bucky shook his head, wishing his hair had come out of his careful and meticulous styling efforts and was therefore capable of hiding his face. But of course, he’d done too good a job, one of the few pleasures he could indulge in, and there was no where to hide from Clint or Clint’s concerning gaze.

“I’ll get you another coffee. I know it’s a tragedy to spill a coffee, but it’s no big deal, we can fix that,” Clint was saying. “Oh man, Nat is going to laugh her ass off at me when she hears me saying coffee isn’t a big deal, but it’s true. We can get a new one.”

Shaking his head still, Bucky tried to pull back and away from Clint, still without looking up at him, afraid of what he would see.

“And actually, I find if something so small as spilling my coffee sets me off, there’s usually something bigger going on. Bucky, tell me you’re okay?” Clint said, hitting the nail right on the head because he was right. Of course, Clint was right. It wasn’t the coffee, or even how nice Clint was being. It was everything. How trapped he felt, how all his dreams had been torn away from him. How he lived in fear of both his boss, his boss’s men _and_ the police.

“You’re too good to be here,” Bucky said, choking on the words, a sob rising in his throat. He didn’t let go of Clint’s hands. “You should leave.”

“Are you _firing_ me?” Clint asked in disbelief. “Was I pushing too much? I just wanted to help.”

“I _should_ ,” Bucky sobbed. “I really should. I like you Clint, but you’d be better off. It’d be s-safer for everyone.”

“Welp, that’s good enough for me,” Clint said.

“What?” Bucky gasped in confusion, but Clint hadn’t moved an inch, except to let go of one hand and press his fingers to his ear and the bright purple hearing aids that matched his sneakers.

“Hawk to Widow, Operation Save the Duck is a go. Don’t you squawk at me! I’m positive! No, I don’t have a crush! Okay, maybe I do but it’s not impairing my judgement, I swear to god.”

There were so many things in there, Bucky didn’t know where to start unraveling. Save the… duck? Crush? Clint was talking to someone like a… a secret agent? Was this a sting? Was Bucky about to get arrested because of his ties to the stupid crime ring he’d managed to get attached to?

More importantly, Clint had a crush on _him_?

No, that wasn’t important. Not at all. Bucky needed to protect Clint from getting into his mess. He pushed away from Clint, fetching up against a wall of ducks and stared incredulously at the other man.

But instead of telling Clint to leave, Bucky only asked dumbly, once more, “What?”

And then the tone that announced the arrival of _his_ bosses pinged off his phone, cutting off any explanations Clint could give him. It was an advance system he’d put in place so he’d never be caught off guard by them and his eyes widened. He stared at Clint in panic.

“Fuck, you have to go,” he said hoarsely.

“What do you mean I have to go? You’re upset, I’m not leaving you.”

“Please, Clint.” Bucky pushed forward, up onto his knees, grabbing at Clint. “Please, go, before it’s too late.”

“They’re on their way, aren’t they?” Clint asked grimly. Bucky nodded dumbly, even though Clint shouldn’t have any idea who they are, or what it would mean that they were coming. Somehow, it all felt right, that Clint already knew something was up.

“It’s not a scheduled visit. Somethings wrong,” Bucky said. “And if somethings wrong then… Clint, you could get hurt.”

“What about you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said. He wiped his hand over his face and grasped the counter with his other, pulling himself to his feet. “I’m already screwed. Why do you think I’m working here?”

“What? Of course it fucking matters,” Clint said, rising with Bucky. “Steve sure thinks it does. And after what I’ve seen here, so do I.”

Bucky gawked at him. The past few however many minutes it had been, Bucky had felt like he was standing on quicksand, unable to make sense of what was going on, getting deeper with every word Clint said which was… what, exactly?

Before he could figure anything out or convince Clint to just leave, his boss came in with his bodyguards, all in their suits and looking so out of place that Bucky didn’t know how nobody else had cottoned on to what was going on here before this. Except, somehow Clint had? What did he mean by Steve? He couldn’t have possibly meant Bucky’s Steve, right? Who _was_ Clint anyway?

Bucky straightened and tried not to look at Clint. “How can I help you?” he asked, attempting to steady his voice and pretend like this was normal, trying to will Clint to leave with his mind alone. He kept his hands on the counter, pressing down to stave off the shaking. No weakness.

“Oh, our business isn’t with you today, Barnes,” Pierce said, a glint in his eyes.

A chill ran through Bucky at the casual acknowledgement that they knew each other. He desperately wanted to look at Clint who was still just standing right fucking there instead of leaving like Bucky had asked.

“I’m sorry?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

Pierce stepped aside and his bodyguards came forward, advancing on both Bucky and Clint. His eyes flicked behind Pierce, to the only real exit, the one he was currently blocking. Clint _could_ go deeper into the shop, and around the wall that led into even more odd nooks and crannies, and _maybe_ he could break through the glass window display at the end, but it was meant to be unbreakable.

And there was no other way out of here.

“We’ve come to have a… talk… with your employee,” Pierce said. One of his goons – Rumlow, Bucky thought – cracked his knuckles and a wicked grin spread over his face.

Clint let a grin spread over his face. “Could I interest any of you fella’s in a rubber duck? We’ve got the best ducks on the whole East Coast, I’m pretty sure. And the most variety. Why, I’m _positive_ we can match you gentleman with the duck equivalent of your soulmates.”

“Shut up about the Rubber Ducks,” Rumlow growled.

“Rude,” Clint said, completely unconcerned. “If you don’t want a rubber duck, then please kindly leave the shop. Mr. Barnes has a business to run.”

Bucky stared wide eyed at Clint, at Pierce at the door, at the approaching henchmen, his fingers getting tenser and tenser on the countertop. Underneath was a baseball bat, and Bucky had always had a mean swing. But if he did this, if he came to Clint’s defense, he’d pretty much be writing his own death certificate.

Well, what part of his life was really worth living at this point? Steve was safe, and that was really all Bucky could ask for.

Except keeping Clint safe too.

Resolve washed over him, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt something close to relief and peace. Another blonde to protect, another person special to him. That would be worth it if this didn’t go well.

“Just come with us quietly, Mr. Barton,” Pierce said. “Barnes, get the room ready.”

“No,” Bucky said, the word firm, dropping into the store like a pebble on a pond –

And then all hell broke loose.

Pierces’ face went red with anger and shock, Rumlow and the other henchman lunged forward, both going towards Clint, and Bucky’s hand closed on the bat. He pulled it out from under the counter just as Rumlow struck out at Clint’s chin. Clint nimbly dodged – how, in a space as cramped as this store? – and Bucky swung the bat hard into the side of Rumlows’ head.

Rumlow cursed and stumbled, turning to face Bucky instead, leaving Clint to the other goon. Bucky lost track of everything except Rumlow then. The bat was knocked from his hand and shelves splintered behind them as their bodies slammed into wood. Ducks were bouncing everywhere as they fell, a waterfall of yellow with the occasional tinge of other colors.

Pierce was yelling, Clint was nowhere in sight anymore and Bucky held a fear that the other goon had taken him down, or that he’d been buried by rubber ducks. But he was too busy dodging Rumlows’ blows to even check on Clint.

Bucky was just glad that nobody had drawn a gun as he and Rumlow grappled. His breath stuttered as he was slammed back into the counter, the glass shattering under the blow. Rumlow was grinning down at him manically when suddenly his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped, collapsing on top of Bucky.

Disgusted, Bucky shoved Rumlow off of him, to the floor, only to find that Clint was standing there, bleeding a little, and staring at Bucky with his own little grin.

“Well, that was bracing,” Clint said wryly. “Need a hand up? Anything broken?” Clint held a hand out to Bucky as he talked and Bucky took it with eager relief.

“Other than the counter, nah, I’m all in one piece,” Bucky said.

He looked around at the remains of store - his livelihood, of a sorts – in a bit of dismay. Both goons were on the ground, currently bleeding on the merchandize and Pierce was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh fuck, I’m a dead man,” Bucky breathed. “Clint, we gotta get outta here before he comes back with more men – “

And then Pierce was being frog marched right back into the store under the stern management of a petite woman with red hair.

“Thanks Nat,” Clint said, beaming at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Why am I always cleaning up your messes?”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with –“ Pierce started to bluster.

“Don’t care,” Nat said, shoving him down to the floor. “Authorities are on their way. Whoever you thought you were before this, big man in town, that’s all about to change.” She grinned at the man with an expression that was somehow both sweet _and_ feral at the same time and it made Bucky shiver and step closer to Clint.

“Don’t worry, she’s on our side,” Clint said, even as he bent down to zip tie the unconscious goons’ hands together. He just… had those, in a pocket of his pants. What the fuck?

“I’m not entirely sure what side is our side right now,” Bucky admitted faintly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “You know it’s our word against his. He’s going to walk, and then we’re dead!”

“Nah, I planted cameras first day,” Clint said, nodding his head towards the entrance, “and it was fairly clear he was up to something shady when he came in. Plus, you’re going to show me the backroom where all the shady deals were happening. I bet there’s enough evidence in there to put him away.”

“And me?” Bucky asked quietly. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Clint stood up abruptly and stepped into Bucky’s space, reaching out to cup his jaw. “We could have moved on him ages ago. We didn’t because of you.”

“Why? You didn’t know me from Adam,” Bucky protested, unable to tear his eyes away from Clints.

“No, but Steve did, and it was Steve who came to us asking for help,” Clint said. “We just had to find a way to do it without you getting hurt…” he paused, looking down at Bucky ruefully cause, yeah, Bucky was already feeling some aches and pains, and there was something running down his cheek he was willing to bet was blood – “Well, _really_ hurt, anyway.”

“Steve went to you for help? Steve _knew?_ Wait, who _are_ you?” Bucky breathed. Inside him, a little bit of hope died as he realized that everything Bucky had thought he’d known about Clint had really been an act.

Clint opened his mouth but a delicate cough interrupted him and he stepped away from Bucky, his cheeks reddening as he rubbed at the back of his neck with a sheepish little grin.

“Evidence first, explanations later,” Nat said.

“This won’t be all of it, it won’t be enough,” Bucky pointed out.

“You think we came into this alone?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “We’re not amateurs. It’s already taken care of.”

Nodding numbly, Bucky led Clint through the shop, around the twisting turns that led from the brighter front to the darker areas. He found the secret door with ease, long practiced in finding it in poor lighting, and let it open. Clint whistled.

“That’s some real James Bond shit right there,” he said.

Bucky paused on his way down the steps. He looked back up at Clint perplexed. “Aren’t you literally a secret agent?”

Clint shrugged. “Well, yeah, but we rarely ever get bookshelves that become secret rooms. It’s a real treat,” he said.

“What even is your life?” Bucky said, shaking his head as he led the rest of the way down the stairs. He let Clint have free reign of the room, sitting on the bottom steps and watching him flit from one location to the other. Occasionally Clint murmured to himself, catching something on camera. There was a computer – password locked and Bucky had never had that, had never been entrusted with it – the Clint easily broke into, inserting a thumb drive into the USB port.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” Bucky finally scraped up the courage to ask, though he didn’t dare raise his eyes from the sight of his bloody knuckles, his hands clasped over his bent knees.

“Well, Steve said you two had some overdue plans to embark on,” Clint said absently. “But when you get back, I’m hoping to take you out on a date.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, his voice far too high and perplexed for his liking.

Clint finally stopped and looked at him. “Cause I like you, Barnes. Thought the past few weeks would have showed you that. I don’t buy coffee for anyone, not even Nat, just so you know,” he said. “And, you rather heroically defended my honor today, which just proves what I learned of you and what Steve insisted of you – that you’re a good man, trapped in a bad place.”

Bucky muttered, running a hand through his hair and only realizing then that it had come undone in the scuffle. “I didn’t even know Steve knew something was up. I tried so hard to keep him away from all of this, keep him safe.”

Had he done that bad a job at keeping everything a secret? Had he put his best friend in danger?

Finishing up, Clint stood and walked back over to Bucky, once more holding out his hand. Bucky took it, dazed, as Clint drew him up easily.

“Steve’s your best friend, your family,” Clint said. “Of course, he knew. Just like Nat knows anytime something’s up with me. Now, are you ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“Wait, before… before we go out there and I have to face the music, did you mean it? About the date?” Bucky asked.

“Course I did,” Clint said, as if it was a no brainer, like Bucky hadn’t even _needed_ to ask the question and before Bucky could stop himself, he’d surged forward and they were kissing. It started desperate and hungry, but under Clint’s guidance it softened to something slower, gentler, something filled with promise.

He pulled away, and his hands cupped Bucky’s face, wiping away tears. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, beaming at Bucky.

And Bucky, staring at this man - this adorable, crazy man who’d maybe just saved his life in so many ways – thought maybe, finally, his life was about to start. A second chance. He couldn’t believe it, had never dared to believe even in the possibility, but Clint _made_ him believe it.

They climbed the stairs together to find the shop crawling with men in business suits, and Steve talking with Nat. Outside the shop windows, there was a shudder and a clang as something landed and Bucky gaped at the familiar red and gold metal suit as it made its way into the building, giving Nat a friendly clap on the shoulder, a nod for Steve and a snicker for Clint.

“Hey, cupid, if you’re done romancing lover boy over there, we got things to do, information to gather, felons to put away,” Iron Man said.

Clint tossed the camera and thumb drive towards Iron Man in an unerring arch. Iron Man caught it with ease even as Steve stepped away from Nat, made his way toward Bucky and grasping his shoulders. Steve looked him up and down with concern.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve asked. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

“Not your fault, punk,” Bucky said, drawing Steve into a grateful hug where he whispered, “But thanks.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve said. “You’re free now.”

And… he was. He was free. Bucky wasn’t sure he’d believe it, till he saw Pierce and his men actually go away for good, but…he was free.

* * *

** **Bonus Scene** **

Hours later, when all the suits had finished going over the store with a fine-tooth comb and everything that could possibly be entered as evidence had been taken, Bucky found Clint digging through the rubble.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, pushing up from his seat with a tired groan. His muscles were _not_ used to the workout they’d gotten today. He used to be in better shape, but he’d let himself grow lax out of sheer depression.

Clint emerged from the rubble with a cry of triumph, a single, solitary rubber duck held aloft in triumph.

“I told you I was taking this little guy home with me,” he said. “Look, it’s Hawkeye! Do you know how hard it is to find Hawkeye merch? He’s even got a little bow!” Clint cooed.

Bucky blinked.

And then things fell into place.

Clint had used the codename of Hawk. He knew Iron Man, who’d called him cupid, of all things. Bucky had thought it was a stab at their mutual crush but it had actually been dual purposed. Then there was the fact that Clint had called someone else Widow in the same coded message that he’d used Hawk. Nat was Widow sized and shaped. Clint had more than a passing resemblance to the Avenger Hero Hawkeye, despite the fact that he always wore a mask and his actual identity wasn’t known to the public. Neither was the Black Widows or Iron Man’s. Which made them perfect undercover agents.

“Holy fuck, you’re _Hawkeye?_ ” Bucky gasped, staring at Clint, dumbfounded.

“Um, yeah” Clint said slowly lowering the rubber duck. “Uh, is that… a deal breaker for you? You wanna cancel the date?”

“Wait, why would I do that just because I found out a bit more on who you were?”

Clint shrugged. “Hawkeye’s not exactly the popular one on the team. Also, it’s kind of dangerous, being associated with me.”

“Don’t know if you missed the memo,” Bucky said dryly, waving a hand around at the wreckage. “It’s apparently also dangerous to be associated with _me.”_

“Yeah,” Clint chuckled, “But hopefully that’s a onetime thing.”

“I can live with that,” Bucky said. “And hopefully, our date won’t be.”

Clint's eyes sparkled as Bucky spoke and he grinned back a Bucky. “Well,” he said slowly, drawing closer to Bucky. “We’ll just have to see what we can do about that, wont we?”


End file.
